


and until i'm with you, i'll carry on

by starkindstrs



Series: oh, so long, my friend, so long [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Iron Bros, Iron Family, Iron Kids, Irondad, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), author is going through five stages of grief and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkindstrs/pseuds/starkindstrs
Summary: Tony is gone, and Peter is floating away, simply existing.Oh, Mr. Stark, Peter thinks.I miss you, I miss you so much, already.





	and until i'm with you, i'll carry on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stxvetony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stxvetony/gifts).



_This is a brand new world_ , Peter thinks.

It’s confusing, to be at the other end of the stick. To Peter, and everybody else who disappeared five years ago, there was no time gap between the moment they drifted and the moment they woke up. Peter doesn’t feel the grief like what those who survived felt. It was a blink of an eye and suddenly people are hugging him, exclaiming that he’s alive, celebrating his return. It's... bizarre.

Peter doesn’t know what to celebrate for, because this doesn’t feel like a moment of triumph.

For all he knows, Peter fought on that wrecked planet just a week ago, where he met the alien warriors who called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy. Just last week, Peter was shooting webs at a Mad Titan, saving that girl with the antenna, trying to pull off that gauntlet with Iron Man—and failing.

Just last week, Peter felt that sensation of emptiness and nausea, promptly fell straight into Mr. Stark, and drifted to sleep. He didn’t even remember what happened much, or what he’d said. He passed out and then suddenly Dr. Strange was standing above him, shaking his shoulders, and Mr. Stark was nowhere to be found.

“ _Peter, wake up!_ ” Peter remembered. “ _You gotta get up now. Are you listening to me? It’s been five years, we’ve lost five years, but now we’re here, and your mentor needs you. Can you stand up?_ ”

He remembered looking around for Mr. Stark, feeling dizzy and displaced, barely listening as Dr. Strange did something with his magic to send some sort of a message to his sorcerer friends, and the other Peter helped steady him as he swayed on his feet.

And then Dr. Strange did a circling motion with his fingers and told him to be ready, and Peter might have been still a little tired—he’d _just_ fought with Thanos no more than half an hour ago!—but he nodded and closed down the helmet of his brand new Iron Spider suit, and then he was leaping through the portal and straight into...

A complete wreckage and a whole army of alien creatures.

A part of him was scared of what was going on, but adrenaline was pumping high in his bloodstream and all he could think of was to _fight_ , and he looked around at all the angry heroes around him, so many of them scattered around him, ready to fight against the giant purple bully that had stabbed Mr. Stark in the stomach, once more—

Peter stops his train of thoughts and looks back down at his feet, afraid of the memory that comes after. He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and ends up choking a little as he lets it out.

It doesn’t feel real. Everything that’s happened, everything that people has been telling him. None of it feels real. His brain hasn’t processed it yet, hasn’t gone through the motions, and he just... exists.

Apparently, he didn’t exist for the past five years, but now he does, and that’s just a crazy concept to grasp. He doesn’t feel like he was out for more than five minutes, but in reality, he’s lost five years. _Five years. Five years. Five years_. The words keep repeating back but it still doesn’t make sense. Five years, and the world has changed. People, like Peter, were lost, and then found again, and Peter doesn’t know what that means, what he has to do about it, where he should go from there.

Aunt May didn’t stop hugging him for hours, when he first saw her again. She was crying, and shaking, and grieving, but Peter didn’t know what she was grieving for because he was here. Alive. Breathing. Not dead. Whole. Peter didn’t feel grief for May because he didn’t lose her. Peter didn’t feel like he’d lost time at all, and nothing had really sunk in yet. So he just sat there as Aunt May held him, whispering words into his ears that he couldn’t comprehend, because he wasn’t processing anything.

Peter didn’t share the grief that Aunt May felt, but he does feel grief for something else.

He looks up and takes a few steps closer, still standing at a distance from the building, but close enough to be able to study it.

The old Avengers Tower still has that huge A symbol on it, but it hasn’t been occupied in years. About seven, actually—five years of when Peter was gone plus the nearly two years since it was sold. Since Peter fought the Vulture from stealing things that were being transported from the tower. It was sold at some point, but the Avengers symbol was never taken off and the building was never really used or even ever renovated, and then the Decimation happened and it was just abandoned, left as it was.

Except, now, the tower is just starting to be renovated, and three statues stand tall right in the middle of the small park straight across from the building. People pass by, back and forth, almost always stopping for a few seconds of silence, head bent down in respect before they continue on their walk. Most of them even take the time to kneel down and leave something at the feet of each statue—a piece of letter, a single flower or even bouquets of them, photos, news articles, plushies, little toys and trinkets... Peter stands and watches, empty handed. A tear falls down his cheek, and he wipes it away.

It doesn’t feel real.

The funeral was just two days ago, and the battle at the compound was seven days ago. Peter doesn’t know how it’s possible, but the new statues are already standing just days after the official report comes on the news. He doesn’t know who arranged to build it—it’s not Pepper, or Happy, or any of the Avengers since they were all too busy picking up the pieces of what was left of the Avengers Compound. It was just suddenly there, and people are always visiting any time of the day, paying respect for the heroes that made the undoing of the Decimation possible.

The first few days, it was filled with people. People from everywhere—people from this city, from out of town, from out of the country—are visiting the tower just to pay respect for two minutes. People are crying and smiling, hugging each other as they stare up at the statue, as they kneel to lay down the flowers they brought. It’s never empty, never deserted. Someone is always there, praying, remembering, at noon, at 2 A.M., every hour of the day.

It’s a brand new world, and a confusing one at that.

There’s an air of celebration, for those who are reunited with those who’s returned from the dust. But it isn’t victory. The world knows what it has lost to make it possible for their loved ones to return. It is grim, and sad, and hopeful, and relieved, and thankful, and devastating. Three souls for billions. It doesn't seem much, not at all, but it's a great loss worth mourning. The world recognizes the sacrifice that has been made.

For the first time in five years, all is right in the world.

Not Peter’s world, though. Never Peter’s.

Loss isn’t a new concept, not for him. He’s lost before, he’s grieved before, so many times. It never gets any easier, but each time, it gets a little less shocking. Like he’s always expecting for it to happen again, eventually.

This one loss is still fresh and raw and tender, but this time, he gets to share it with the rest of the world, even the universe. Maybe it’s not the same for them like it is for him, but it feels like a little less of a burden for him to carry by himself. It leaves him feeling hollow, and it makes him sick to his stomach, and there’s not one moment since it happened that he isn’t on the verge of a meltdown, but he’s hanging on.

He has to. He’s trying to.

Peter is wearing a suit, the one he wore last year—or, over six years ago—to homecoming. It’s clean and neatly pressed, the tie’s perfectly made, just as he’s been taught a couple of months ago—or a couple of months before the Decimation. Mr. Stark taught him how to tie his tie, after seeing the picture May had taken of him before he left for the dance, noticing the crook of his lopsided tie and teasing him about it. Mr. Stark had rough hands, but they were gentle as they guided his fingers. Mr. Stark had a smile on his face when Peter managed to do it on his own, just a little upturned quirk of his lips.

Mr. Stark had. Past tense.

It wrenches his gut, when the memory all comes back to him. He’s lost five years. Mr. Stark had lived a fulfilled life in the last five years and Peter wasn’t there to celebrate it with him. It’s the loss that ate away at him the most, the knowledge that _he should have been there_. And now Peter’s back to life, to this reality, from wherever he’d disappeared to, and Mr. Stark is gone.

There’s no undoing that. Not this time.

He remembers the look in Mr. Stark’s eye as the elder man approached him, in the midst of the battle. He was wide-eyed, and Peter was so nervous that Mr. Stark was gonna start yelling at him for something stupid that he must’ve done that he kept babbling away to calm his nerves and then... and then Mr. Stark was hugging him and Peter thought _oh, this is nice._

Little did he know that minutes later, those wide eyes would turn glassy, and empty, threads of life slipping away, right in front of Peter.

Peter swallows a sob, rubs at his wet eyes. It doesn’t feel real, but it is, and it feels like he’s drowning but he gotta get to the shore and stand back up and _walk on_.

So, he does. He walks, taking steps closer toward the towering building, and crosses the street to get to the park. Layers of people are crowding around the statues, and Peter stands behind the line. He looks up, and smiles.

Steve Rogers stands on the right, in a button-down shirt and a leather jacket, looking forward with a grin on his face. He holds his shield in his hand, but it’s lowered down, non-defensively.

Natasha Romanoff is on the left side, arms crossed in front of her chest with her head tilted down to the side, her eyes closed, and a peaceful, happy little smile on her face. Her long hair is braided, resting gently over her shoulder.

As far as the rest of the world knows, the Captain died shortly after the battle, from his injuries. Peter knows it isn’t true, though. He’s heard how the soldier was on a mission to return the infinity stones back into the past, and how he never returned home. Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson found him, already grown old from the life he chose to live out, and Steve Rogers died a couple of days later in his sleep, from old age, surrounded by his family.

As for the former spy, she died as a sacrifice in exchange for the soul stone. Peter’s heart aches for her, and for the Hawkeye who was there to witness that sacrifice. Peter never really got to know her, but he knew Natasha and Mr. Stark were close friends. She also never stopped trying to find ways to save the other half of the universe.

Peter closes his eyes for a moment, murmurs a prayer, and then looks up at the last statue.

Mr. Stark stands in the middle, in a three-piece suit and a pair of glasses, staring up towards the sky with a triumphant smile on his face, one gauntleted hand pointing downwards while the other clutches the Iron Man helmet next to his chest.

Peter chokes on a breath, and gently takes in another.

When words got around that Mr. Stark had died in the battle after returning those who were gone, the whole world mourned. A tribute was held, here, before the statues were built. People flew in from other states, other countries, paying respects. They had the roads around the block closed so that people could gather to stand, and it was _filled_ with people. People in mourning, wearing black suits and dresses, from all over the world.

When Pepper found out, she cried, but there was a smile on her face. _He’s so loved_ , Pepper said. _He’s so, so loved_ , _they are all so loved_ , she kept repeating as Colonel Rhodes held her. And Mr. Stark _really, really was_. He’s saved the world, saved the universe, didn’t even blink before taking the stones into his own hands. He didn’t hesitate, and he was so brave... so admirably fearless. Like Natasha, who didn’t hesitate to jump. Like Steve, who had laid his life on the ground over and over again.

There are no words needed—no epitaph inscribed onto the stone, just the three of them standing like the protector of earth that they all were. Flowers flood at their feet, love letters scattered among the petals, never to be read. Peter stands for what feels like hours as people come and go. He listens as some of them thank the heroes out loud, while the crowd nods solemnly.

Five years, Peter was gone, and he didn’t even know. Did they spend all of those years trying to get him back—the rest of the world back? Did they ever rest, close their eyes and be surrounded in safety the way they all are now that the threat of the Mad Titan is gone?

Did Mr. Stark miss him while he was gone, the way Peter is now terribly, horribly, is missing him? To him, it’s only been a week since Mr. Stark’s been gone, and he’s missed him a lot already.

Peter’s lips start to tremble, and he looks back down again as his eyes start to become blurry. He cries, silently, the tears falling down his face freely, shoulders moving in aborted shudders. He misses Mr. Stark so much. So, so, so much.

Peter startles when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder, his enhanced senses failing him because he’s too busy crying. He hastily wipes his face, then looks up and frowns.

He remembers this guy—he was at the funeral, as well. He’s similarly built like him, only a little bit taller and lankier. He can’t remember who this guy was—and never bothered to ask, really—but he does remember that he was there.

The guy is also offering a handkerchief for him.

Slowly, Peter takes it and nods a thanks. He wipes his face, blows his nose, and looks back up. The guy has his hands stuffed into his jeans pocket, eyes staring straight at the statue of Mr. Stark. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw a little clenched. When he notices that Peter is staring at him, he tilts his head.

“He always talks about you. Non-fucking-stop. This kid this, this kid that. I didn’t wanna shut him up because I’d feel bad about it though,” he says in a forced nonchalant tone.

Peter blanks out. “Um.”

The guy fully turns to him, gives him a look, and lets out a snort. “Of course he never told you about me. Figured. _We’re connected_ , bullshit. He’s always been an ass,” he says, in a slightly mocking tone, but Peter can hear the fierce fondness behind his voice. “I’m Harley. Harley Keener.”

Harley. The name rings a bell. Mr. Stark must’ve mentioned that name once or twice, but he can’t place it yet. “I’m Peter—”

“Peter Parker, yeah. Like I said, the old man never could stop talkin’ about you.” Harley shrugs. “I’m your... replacement. Or _you_ _were_ my replacement first, before the whole, dusting thing, yeah. I was there first, for him, before you. I helped him with the whole,” Harley makes a gesture with his hands, “Mandarin thing—he wouldn’t have survived without me. I saved his ass. We’re, we’re—we were. We were connected.”

And the puzzle piece clicks in its place. “You’re that kid from Rose Hill, Tennessee.”

Harley scoffs, but he looks a little bit delighted at that, at Peter recognizing who he is. “Hardly a kid. I’m older than you, Parker.”

“Mr. Stark told me about you. Not so much, but yeah.” And maybe Peter is being a little teasing about it.

Harley rolls his eyes. “I’m too precious to be talked about all the time. But what did he tell you, about me?”

“I don’t know... He said that you were his tiny kid servant. Like a human DUM-E, but small. He had you making him tuna sandwiches all the time.”

“Human DUM-E—what the fuck. The disrespect.” A real laugh from Harley, and Peter joins in for a short second. “He stole my sister’s watch.”

“And returned it, and did a makeover of your garage lab.”

Harley grinned, a little teary. “Yeah.” He looks away, back at Mr. Stark’s grinning place, frozen for eternity. Immortalized. “I’ve always known he was gonna do something stupid one day.”

Something white hot slams into Peter’s chest, and he hotly interrupts, “It’s _not_ stupid—”

“Yeah, no, Parker, whatever. It’s not stupid, it’s necessary, he saved the world, blah blah blah, but I mean, it kinda is. Stupid, I mean. He’s just human—what business did he have, thinking he could take all the stones in his hand like that?” Harley replies, just as hot, and that’s when Peter realizes that a tear has fallen down the elder boy’s cheek as well. “A whole dumbass, and the world calls him the Einstein of his generation. Ridiculous.”

“He did what he had to do,” Peter murmurs quietly, remembering the words from Doctor Strange, echoing from what feels like a lifetime ago, now. “There was no other way.”

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ bullshit.” Harley is sniffling now, pulling out another handkerchief from his pocket. “In a battle filled with enhanced superheroes? Aliens? Straight up gods? And _he_ was the one who had to do it? Bullshit.”

Peter clenches his jaw. Harley is in anger, and a part of him understands. Peter doesn’t know which stage of grief he’s currently in, himself, but Mr. Stark must’ve meant a lot to Harley too. It must’ve been hard for him.

“Why not toss the stupid stones as that Captain Marvel lady? Heard she swallowed the power of an entire fucking infinity stone. Or, or, fucking _Thor_ was there. It didn’t have to be him. It really didn’t. He promised. He promised he was done.”

Peter’s chest flames in agony. _He did it for you, Peter, I hope you’re happy now_ , he tells himself. _Traded his own life so he could bring you back, even though he’d promised he was done with it._

But Harley wasn’t in the battle. He didn’t see it happen, didn’t see the urgency of everything, didn’t see the army of mindless alien creatures surrounding them all, didn’t see how Thanos wasn’t stopping.

And then, minutes later, “I’m sorry,” Harley deflates. “I’m just... I keep thinking of ways it could have gone and how much I wished it didn’t happen like this.”

 _Me too, Harley_.

Harley looks up at him and his eyes flicker. “I guess I’m not being fair. It must be harder for you.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose. “It’s just that... when my sister started screaming, when my mom suddenly reappeared in the living room like a fuckin’ ghost, even before I got that phone call... I already knew.  Knew what he’s done. And I hated being right about that, because I didn’t want it to be true.”

Peter nods, and looks away. “I was there. When he... when he did it. Took the stones, stared at Thanos right in the eye. Told him, _I am Iron Man_. I was scared. I was so, so scared,” his voice turns hoarse, just a little sliver of air passing through his lips. “And then he did it.”

Peter hasn’t spoken to anybody about it. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t know who to speak with or how to say it. Aunt May was still holding him in a tight grip, like a vice, afraid that he’d slip away again, and Peter can’t talk about it with her because she’s too glad to have him back, it’s all she’s talked about for days, and he feels bad for her that he just stands there and accepts all the hugs and kisses from the woman who’s raised him like a mother would. He hasn’t spoken much to his friends—his friends from school, who survived the Decimation. Ned is five years older than him now, _five whole years older than him_ , and he can’t dump this shit on him, it still feels like talking to a stranger, who’s in college, who’s lived a life without Peter for _five years_.

Yet, he’s here, opening up everything he’s bottled in to a stranger. No, not a stranger. This is Harley Keener, the kid Tony took in before Peter. Harley would understand. He does, right? And it only just hits him right at this moment, but he’s so relieved that he’s with Harley, right now, even though the elder boy was being fucking infuriating earlier, but they both understand each other, and now Peter won’t stop talking.

“He snapped his finger and it’s just. The world... _tilted_. He fell down hard, and my heart... my heart just dropped.”

He tells Harley how parts of him dissociated for a quick second, how he couldn’t see the wreckage of the Compound in front of him, but he saw his Uncle Ben instead, falling onto the sidewalk, red blooming all over his chest, dying all over again like he did three years ago— _eight_ years ago—and then he blinked and Mr. Stark was lying there, half burnt, barely breathing, and Peter... Peter _sobs_.

“I tried to... I talked to him, I told him—I told him we’d _won_ , we won so he should be, he should be _okay_. We won, he did it, I kept—I kept telling him. I kept begging, but he. I think he wasn’t, he wasn’t really _all there_ anymore, and he wouldn’t look at me, and—” Peter shakes his head, breaths stuttering in his tired chest. “I begged, _please, please._ He couldn’t leave me. Not like that. I didn’t want him to _go_. Harley, I swear I tried. I did, I told him—”

“Peter,” Harley says softly. He’s crying too, just silent tears down his chin, dropping onto his hoodie. The taller boy reaches out and Peter just _falls_ , straight into his chest, hugging him. “I’m so sorry.”

And then something in him just _clicks_.

He remembers. Peter remembers, the moment before he passed out. On titan. Last week—or five years ago. How he fell straight into Mr. Stark’s arms, and he said... Mr. Stark said...

“ _You’re okay_.”

And Peter... Peter was so scared. He didn’t know what was happening, and it was _painful_. It felt like every atom in his body was being picked apart, one by one, but Mr. Stark was holding him, he was holding him so tightly, and Peter looked into Mr. Stark’s wide, scared eyes and he was _so sorry_...

The next thing Peter knows, he’s sitting on the park bench nearby, and Harley’s arm was around his shoulders, guiding him to breathe.

“I was so scared,” Peter gasps, Peter lets out, but he doesn’t really know what he’s referring to—disintegrating out of existence, or seeing his mentor, his third father figure, slowly die in front of him.

“I know. I’m so sorry.” By now, Harley’s also sobbing next to him.

It’s still crowded around the park, but nobody really paid attention to the two boys crying on the bench. It happens every day—people visit the memorial and cry, and it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.

“It’s— _stupid_ ,” Peter breathes, “I don’t. I don’t have the right to... to _grieve_ like this. He isn’t... he’s, he wasn’t,” he shakes his head, “I’m nobody, I just knew him for... for less than two years, I was just a kid he recruited, I was just an intern, I wasn’t—I’m not like you, you’ve known him for years, I’m not—”

“Peter,” Harley interrupts sharply, “you’re dumb as fuck.”

“I’m... I’m sorry?”

Harley isn’t listening. “It doesn’t fucking matter if I had him for ten years while you only did for two. It doesn’t fucking matter. You love him, I know you do.”

 _You love him_. “I... I do,” Peter admits, and it’s the first time that he says it out loud. It’s the first time that he even _realizes_ it.

Peter loved, loves Mr. Stark _so much_ , almost as fiercely as he loved Uncle Ben, like he loved his father that he barely remembers. Peter loved spending time with Mr. Stark in his workshop all the way upstate, tinkering with the Iron Man suit, brainstorming over the chemical compounds in his web fluids, or just watching the elder man hum to the loud song in the speakers while he worked on his homework. Peter admired him so much, looked up to him, not _Iron Man,_ superhero extraordinaire, but Tony Stark, the genius, the inventor, the futurist, the great mentor, the _father figure_.

Peter didn’t get that much time being a part of Mr. Stark’s life, but he treasured the moments that he was allowed to have, the sides of Mr. Stark that he rarely showed to just everybody else.

And it’s crazy, how short the time he actually had with Mr. Stark. Barely two years, and then he was gone. Mr. Stark had only been a part of his life for two years, unlike Harley who had ten, or... or even Mr. Stark’s own _daughter_ that Peter had just met, who had four. And almost like Harley was reading his mind, he tells Peter:

“You only had him for two years, but Mr. Stark had you for seven,” Harley says, forcing Peter to look at him, “Even when you weren’t here, you were a part of his life. You were, he’s told me this, you were the one that convinced him to start a _family_. He never did want kids, he barely tolerated me when we first met, probably only kept me around because I was useful with the damn tuna sandwiches. But you, you changed it, Peter. You changed him.

“And you know how I know that you love him?” Harley inquiries, and Peter shook his head. “Because I do, too. I know how it feels. We’ve both lost our dads, maybe for different reasons, but we both lost them and we found comfort in Tony when he took us in. When he let us be part of his life. He had that... that _effect_ , like, like when you find him staring at you _that_ certain way, the, the _proud dad way_ ,” he stops to chuckle and wipe his eyes, “and you just. You just stop and think to yourself, _oh_. _I guess this is nice. It’s nice to have this_. _I guess I want more_.”

Another sob breaks through him as he nods. He knows, because that’s exactly what he felt, when Mr. Stark hugged him amid his monologue. Peter thought, or maybe said out loud, _this is nice_.

“I miss him,” Peter whispers.

“I know. I miss him too.”

“It’s not fair. I should have... I should’ve done more.”

Harley shakes his head. “No. Like you said, it was the only way.”

Peter swallows thickly and sniffles, wrapping his arms around his own self. “Did you really mean that? Did he really, did he really start a family, because of me?”

Harley hums. “Yeah. He loved you, loved taking care of you. He said, one day he just woke up from a dream, that Pepper was pregnant, and that you were sitting next to her, feeling the baby bump, the three of you laughing.” Harley smiles a heavy smile.

Peter chokes on a breath. _Oh, Mr. Stark_...

“He rarely ever called me. Before, before you were gone. Maybe he’d call, like, once a month, or like two months, askin’ about my college application, or if my sister’s stupid Dora the Explorer watch still works. But then he lost you, and I’d thought you both had died in space, and then the news said he was back, and suddenly he was calling me, and he was calling me every day.

“When he started talking about you, I knew I was just like... some sort of a stand-in, for you. Because he missed you, and I was the closest thing that could fill that in. But I didn’t mind, because I liked spending time with him, like you do. It was, it was _nice_ , and then he was getting married, and I found him crying in his room the day before his wedding, and he looked up at me with this... _look_ , on his face.”

Peter looks down in shame. _I should’ve been there_. He missed the wedding, the happiest day of Mr. Stark’s life.

“He really wished you were there. He wished that... that the two of us had the chance to meet. I never really cared about whoever the fuck you were before that day, but then I got it, and I wished the same thing.”

“I wished I was there, too.”

“You would’ve loved it, Parker.” Harley pats his knee. “I’m sorry. I know I might be too forward, but I just. You must’ve been so confused, with the missing five years thing. I just want you to know that Tony really cared about you and that it’s totally okay for you to mourn him. And that, this must be a strange world, for you, so many things have changed in such a short time. I’d like to help you with settling in.” He shrugs. “It’s what Tony woulda wanted me to do, anyway.”

“Thanks, Harley,” Peter tells him sincerely. “I guess we’re... connected, now.”

Harley laughs. “God, it’s so cheesy, and I guess it was our, Tony and I, our thing. But I don’t mind. We’re all, the three of us, we’re connected.” He nods and grins. “And also, don’t forget Morgan. We’re the Iron Kids. We’re all connected now.”

“Iron Kids?”

“’S what I call myself and Morgan. The Iron Kids. We were missing a member, but not anymore.”

Peter’s voice is thin, filled with hope. “Morgan... Morgan knows about me?”

“Of course,” Harley rolls his eyes. “Even _I_ know about you. Like I said, old man’s never stopped waxing poetics about you. Morgan’s wanted to meet you so bad. She’d really love another older brother.”

Peter’s eyes are once again warm with wet tears, but this time, it’s not out of sadness. He didn’t get to see Morgan at the... at the funeral. He saw her from a distance, wondered who she was, and then Happy told him and he just couldn’t take it—he’d asked May to go straight home. But now, “That sounds nice. I’ve never had a sister. Or, uh, a brother. I’m an—I’m an only child.”

“Great, because I could use a brother. I have two sisters in two separate homes, I’ll never be safe. Now I’ve got someone I could team up with.”

Peter laughs, and maybe it’s too soon to feel a glimpse of happiness, but Mr. Stark, Tony, he would’ve been glad to hear it. _A brother and a sister_. _All connected_.

Harley looks up ahead, at the thinning crowds, at the warm glow of sunset over Tony’s immortalized face. He looks so happy, the grin so wide and free, with the crinkles near his eyes. Peter follows his line of sight, and his chest aches, but he’s breathing a little easier.

“I never told him. That I loved him, that I thought of him like a father,” Peter admits. “I took it for granted. I thought, _Next time, I’ll thank him, tell him I appreciate everything he’s done for me._ And I didn’t think he’d really care about it, anyway, and it’s so embarrassing, so I never told him.”

“He knew. Believe me, he knew.”

“I hope so.”

After a moment of silence, Harley says, “We’re gonna be okay, Parker.”

 _We’re gonna be okay._ It’s an echo of Pepper’s last words to Tony, before he let out one last sigh and drifted off. Peter nods, believing it. He’s gonna be okay. One day, maybe, but not today, and that’s fine. He’s allowed to not feel okay.

This time, he’s got Harley. He’ll one day visit Tony’s lake house again, maybe not in the next few weeks, but he will. Meet Morgan properly, have a talk with Rhodey, about Tony. See the life that Tony built while he was gone. It will hurt, but he needs to do it. Just not today. He’s not ready yet.

“I’m so glad that he’s loved,” Peter says. The crowd is thinning because it’s getting dark, but people still come and go, stop by to say a few words, to murmur a little prayer. And it’s beautiful, and it’s devastating, and it’s everything Tony Stark deserves.

“You wanna come up there, say hello to Tony?” Harley asks gently, and Peter nods.

He stands, and braces himself before walking side by side with Harley. His brother. Peter feels his eyes start to tear up again. He’s so glad, but it hurts. He’s a conflicting mess of emotions, and he will be for a little while. He gestures for Harley to go ahead first, and stands behind as the taller boy walks up right in front of the statue, looking up at the smiling man.

Peter chooses to move towards Natasha’s statue. He stops, and tells her, _Thank you, Natasha. Thank you for bringing us back. Thank you for being a friend to Tony. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us._ And then, to Steve, _Thank you for being there for Tony, for having his back in that last battle. Thank you for your service, to the country, to the world, to the universe._

From the corner of his eye, he sees Harley step back and motions for him to come closer. Peter stops in front of Tony’s statue, holds out his hand slowly, reaching out toward the gauntleted hand, wishing he could hold it the way Tony held his when he was teaching him how to tie his tie, and maybe never let go.

“I don’t know if you can hear me say this, from—from wherever you are right now, but thank you,” Peter begins, already choking on his own words, and his message ends up messy, all over the place, but he just has to _say it out loud_ , he has to _tell him_ , even though it doesn’t really make much sense, “thank you, for holding on. After you lost—after I disappeared—and thank you for, for trying again. Thank you, for giving me a family. It must’ve been hard, when you made that choice. Pepper and Morgan... they’re gonna be alright. I’ll be. I’ll be here. For them, if they want me. Harley says so. Also, Harley. Thank you for telling him about me. Makes it, uh, a little less awkward, to meet him. I,” Peter stops. Takes a deep breath, and tries again. “I _love_ you, Mr. Stark, like, a lot. I’m sorry I never told you that. But I do. Thanks for, thanks for taking care of me, when I was doing... the, the _internship_. Thank you for looking out for me. I never told you, but I’m so grateful to have you in my life. You, you were my _idol_ , Mr. Stark. Tony. You’re like, you’re like a dad to me. Speaking of...”

Peter smiles, and continues.

“Tell my mom and dad and uncle I said hi. Mary and Richard Parker, Ben Parker. Uh, in case you don’t know their names. If you meet them, tell them I miss them, but that I was alright, even after they’re gone. And now, and now I’ll be alright too, Tony. After you’re gone. I will be. One day. I’m still trying, but I’ll be okay. The four of you can just... like, chill out together. In the afterlife. Tell them every dumb thing you’ve learned about me, I don’t really care.” He chuckles. “I’ll be okay, Tony. We’ll all be. Your family, Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Happy, Harley. We’ll be okay. Tell my family that me and Aunt May are okay, as well.”

He wipes away the wetness on his cheeks and pauses to breathe.

“Harley said that you missed me, and I’m sorry about that. That you had to feel that way. But you managed to... to _carry on_ anyway, and had Morgan, and I couldn’t be happier about that. And I promise, I promise that I will too. I’ll carry on. For you. I owe it to you.”

Peter reached up and pats the helmet on Tony’s chest, then draws back, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’ll meet you again, someday.” Peter smiles one last time, wobbly and thin, but he manages. “I love you. Or, as May would say, _I larb you_.”

He bends down and straightens up a few of the flowers that have started to fall messily on top of each other at his mentor's feet. He stands back up, looks up at Tony, his mentor, his idol, his hero, his father figure, one more time.

“Rest easy, Tony.”

He turns away, and meets Harley, who’s obviously been listening, who nods at him in appreciation. They slide an arm around each other, patting each other in the back, and walks away.

It hurts, and it will be for a long time, but they’ll carry on.

They have to. For Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm taking one minor headcanon that ned survived the snap and so now he's older than peter.
> 
> i'm feeling all kinds of pain these past 5 days and i just wanted to write something... self indulgent. this doesnt really make any sense im basically projecting what i've been feeling about this movie and tony's death and i kind of hate everything right now but i gotta do something about it lol
> 
> also, this one is for kara because she made me cry at 4 am so fuck you too i guess :) ily
> 
> title is taken from the song "Yesterdays" by Switchfoot. i do suggest listening to it while reading this one for added tears. also, did i mention that i didn't once stopped crying while writing this? yeah. that happened.
> 
> i'm gonna miss you, tony.


End file.
